


black rose road

by In_a_Quandary



Category: Final Fantasy XIII, Final Fantasy XIII Series
Genre: Alternate Universe - Futuristic Dystopia, Androids & Cyborgs, Existential Angst, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Tragic Romance, Transhumanism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-27
Updated: 2016-09-16
Packaged: 2018-08-11 10:14:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,960
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7887211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/In_a_Quandary/pseuds/In_a_Quandary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>l’Cie</i>. For many, that title would inspire both awe and terror. As biomechanical constructs with the ability to cast magic, they were Cocoon’s means of enforcement through violence. Somehow, Lightning had become entangled with the most important of them all. Yet <i>he</i> was completely different to what she expected. Transhumanism AU. Lightning/Cyborg!Hope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This spawned from a Kingdom Hearts AU that I never finished. Roxas and Xion were the original participants, but I ended up swapping the genders ‘round in the case of Hope and Lightning to better accommodate their personalities. As a result, this version of Lightning is more masculine than my other interpretations of her. I daresay it’s refreshing to invert their dynamic and portray Lightning as the _yang_ character (with Hope as _yin_ respectively).
> 
> Yes, I should be updating my other fics. But the plot bunnies kept multiplying and I felt compelled to give them form…
> 
> Please let me know of your first impressions and whether or not this is something worth continuing. That said, I already _do_ have the story plotted out and all.

xxx

**_prologue – ignoble beginnings_ **

xxx

__

_Lightning’s hands balled into fists at her sides. “So you’re going back to them?”_

_Hope didn’t turn around to look at her; all she could see were the frayed ends of his messy silver haircut. “I don’t see any other choice.” His voice – normally a gentle, mellow tenor – was rigid with determination, and she_ hated _it._

_“If you walk out that fucking door, I’ll never forgive you.”_

_His shoulders visibly shook as he digested the threat, but it didn’t prevent the faint rustle of fabric as he produced a keycard from his jeans pocket. A swipe and a beep later, the locked door of their hired motel room unlatched. Suddenly she staggered, clutching her chest; it felt as though someone had plunged a knife into the soft, vulnerable flesh underneath._

_He didn’t see her reaction; the hood of his sweater-clad back was still facing her. Re-pocketing the keycard, he gave the door a small push. It swung open with a rusty whine. The hinges needed oiling, she realised distantly._

_“I’m sorry.”_

_Muted light from the street lamps outside spilled onto his sneakers (nondescript white canvas, with travel-worn soles and sloppily knotted laces. Why did meaningless details like those stand out so vividly when the world was crashing down?). She watched, disbelieving, as they shuffled forward, lifted—_

this can’t be happening he can’t seriously be leaving

_—and crossed over the threshold into the night._

* * *

She was Lightning Farron, screw-up street kid turned Sanctum security officer. He was Hope, l’Cie No. XXVII and primary artificial human subject of _Project Transcendence_. Fate brought them together, then threatened to snatch them apart again. In defiance, they’d fled the Sanctum, seeking a new life beyond the whitewashed walls of their laboratory cage. Only too late did they realise that freedom came with the greatest price of all…

But their story began long ago, when she first joined the ranks of the Sanctum.

In retrospect, she’d been the ideal recruit. A poverty-stricken nobody fit to be erased from the record books and remoulded for clandestine, less-than-benevolent purposes. Orphaned in her youth, she’d dropped out of school early and drifted about the precarious job market, caught in the brutal struggle to survive. She had no family, friends or support network. Lack of medical privilege meant that the one sister she’d loved succumbed to illness on the eve of her nineteenth birthday. And when Serah died, Claire died with her.

The Cocoonian government had salvaged her numb, alcohol-poisoned form from the alley and nursed her back to health, before giving her an ultimatum. Either she could become the next victim of the Purge – the sanctioned ‘cleansing’ of undesirables like her from society – or work for them. They would clean her up, provide a roof over her head and three square meals a day. In turn, she would assume a new identity as an underground state servant. Desperation and the ever-prevailing survival instinct had won out over pride, and she’d ended up accepting their offer.

Thus she became _Lightning_.

She was a broken shell, hollowed out by grief and despair and bitterness at the world that had no place for her in it. So they’d rebuilt her by way of indoctrination, impressing upon her untaught mind the various technicalities of combat and military protocol. Time went by, and she learned how to follow orders and wield the gunblade that now slung across the backs of her thighs. Eventually, she became the quintessential soldier. Disciplined. Efficient. _Obedient_. Stripped of her agency, she sought no greater ambition than carrying out the motions of her subjugated existence.

Nevertheless, they seemed pleased with her performance. After her third year, they reallocated her to Sanctum Research and Development, Department of Cybernetics. At her new site, she would form part of the security staff for the highly classified _Project Transcendence_.

Were she someone else, perhaps this transfer would’ve provoked resistance, raised an ethical debate within her. Here was the birthplace of l’Cie, biomechanical automatons capable of crystallising chaotic energy, otherwise known as ‘magic’. Having accompanied said l’Cie on field trips as well as the front lines, she’d witnessed firsthand their awe-inspiring powers of destruction. They were consummate killing machines – tools of enforcement, weapons of war. Therefore, in guarding their origins, she would perpetuate not only Cocoon’s continued oppression of its people, but also the atrocities committed in its pursuit of world-domination.

She didn’t care.

Walking amongst the l’Cie, she felt only a twisted sense of belonging. Many an occasion she’d looked into those optical sensors they had for eyes, and saw herself reflected back. She and they were the same: instruments of captivity, marionettes dangling by their puppeteer’s strings. The one thing that differentiated them was self-awareness, or in the l’Cie’s more fortunate case, lack thereof. They couldn’t experience the turmoil of conscience – they were not engineered with that capacity.

It was a perfect apathy. So she’d emulated them, retreated so deeply into herself until she could no longer _feel_.

And for a while, nothing mattered.

Not until she met _him_.


	2. part i - the white cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **A/N:** Beware, massive info dump ahead. By virtue of its world-building nature, this introductory chapter is quite heavy on the lore and technical details. As the Sanctum is a complex entity, and the mechanics of l’Cie – Hope in particular – a whole beast in itself, I wanted to lay out the nitty-gritty groundwork.
> 
> This turned out to be more of an intellectual romp than I’d expected. I’ve done my research and tried my best at maintaining some semblance of scientific fidelity, but I’m no neuroscientist or biomedical engineer. So please forgive me if you find inconsistencies. Pointing them out in a review would also be appreciated.

xxx

_**part i – the white cage**_

xxx

“You will now have authorised access to docking lab sixteen,” said Officer Raines, his cold grey eyes surveying her over the tops of his steepled fingers. “Make sure to be there no later than fifteen thirty. Dr. Zaidelle will give you a proper introduction.”

“Got it, sir.”

He inclined his head towards her in a brief nod. “Dismissed.”

Composure in place, Lightning sketched a perfunctory salute before turning on her heel and stepping out of her superior’s office. A solid _thump_ and the hiss of rushing air followed, indicating that the door had shut behind her. She walked a few paces down the corridor, noting with surprise the lack of traffic at this time of the afternoon. Once assured of her momentary privacy, she allowed herself to slump back against the nearest wall and release a sigh.

Today was the eighth of July, meaning exactly five years had passed since she’d joined the Sanctum. Five years since she’d traded her old, wretched existence for the relatively luxurious one of a government lapdog, complete with muzzle and leash. Perhaps there was some karmic irony in that, for it also marked the occasion where she received her latest, most monumental and positively gargantuan bombshell of an assignment.

She had been reallocated once more, this time to Special Operations. And this transfer came with a new job title: _l’Cie handler_. Moreover, she wasn’t about to handle just any l’Cie, but the newly deployed No. XXVII, the Sanctum’s most advanced cyborg.

To say that her mind was reeling was an understatement.

Presumably this formed part of some grand scheme only the higher-ups knew about, because Lightning couldn’t see how she fit into the picture. Sure, she may have the grit and focus for the role, but otherwise presented no qualifying traits. Her understanding of l’Cie day-to-day operation and maintenance was, at best, rudimentary. (Something that would soon be remedied, if her upcoming schedule packed full of learning modules was any indication.) And while her field experience had given her a solid grasp of l’Cie combat capabilities, there were others far more knowledgeable on the subject. Besides, wouldn’t her lack of status – not to mention lowly background – automatically disqualify her as a candidate?

 _Maybe that’s what they want_ , she rationalised. _Someone who knows just enough to get the job done, but not enough to get distracted._

Whatever their reason or agenda might be, it wasn’t as though Lightning had the option to refuse. The fact that they’d rescued her from the Purge bin equated to a lifetime’s service worth of debt. If she had any sense of self-preservation at all, she would perform her duty, and perform it well.

Even if it involved a task she was anything but prepared for.

Intent on reaching her next assigned location – docking lab sixteen – Lightning set out once more, her booted soles clicking against the polished ceramic floor. Sleek, monochromatic walls (the interior design of Edenhall Research Institute often featured a fusion of utility and aesthetics) passed by her along with other Sanctum personnel, who spared her no more than a glance before continuing on with their business. Accustomed to this indifference, she did likewise. Her icy, aloof persona preceded her, and with but a few exceptions (whom she can count on the fingers of one hand), people left her alone.

She made her way through the main hall, appearing in the elevator lobby. At her prompting, an available stall came up – empty, to her relief – which she entered. Deft fingers dialled the sequence of keys that would take her to the ninth basement, where the docking labs resided. As the elevator gears engaged and sent her deeper into the bowels of the facility, Lightning let her mind wander, revisiting the details of her assignment.

Due to matter sensitivity, what she knew of her soon-to-be charge was limited to her debriefing. With _Project Transcendence_ approaching its pinnacle, l’Cie No. XXVII had been repurposed as the centrepiece. Representing the latest breakthrough in l’Cie technology, it was a true prototype and the first of its kind.

Although later models had already been released (if memory served her correctly, they were up to No. LXIV now), No. XXVII was in the final stages of development, having just graduated past the testing phase. What made it unique was its precise mimicry of human form and function – it was supposedly indistinguishable from an ordinary person. (While l’Cie had transitioned to organic exteriors by the twenty-second model, the resemblance was only superficial. Replication of internal physiology – namely neural infrastructure – was instead co-developed in a separate line of cyborgs. However, the two technologies have only converged and seen successful implementation in No. XXVII’s case.) Not to mention that it manifested healing and augment magics, which were rare among l’Cie. (She decided that _that_ was not a bad thing, for it made No. XXVII less lethal should a malfunction occur. Injury and death were very real hazards in the handler line of profession.)

Speaking of the handler profession, Lightning’s new role came with various duties. The primary one being that she would shadow her charge, observe and report its behaviour, and subdue it in the event of aberrations. Another was to accompany it to public places to ensure adequate integration and socialisation. (The potential for infiltration had become manifest with No. XXVII’s human likeness, and the Sanctum had every intention of utilising this ability.) Ultimately, she was to act as its partner on the field, providing directives and an anchor point.

A soft _ding_ sounded, announcing her arrival at the ninth basement. This was followed by a metallic wrench as the doors slid open. Anticipation forming a knot in the pit of her stomach, Lightning stepped forward, out of the elevator and into a well-lit, whitewashed corridor. She passed by set after set of double doors, making sure to examine their plaques – twelve, fourteen, _sixteen_ – before confirming which one her destination lay behind. There was a contraption on the wall with vertical mobile components: a retinal scanner. Detecting her presence, it tracked her to eye height and performed a reading of her right eye.

“ _Authorisation approved_ ,” it said in a female-sounding monotone.

Then the double doors before her unlatched and parted, welcoming her into the sterile embrace of docking lab sixteen.

Her initial impression was that of a doctor’s office rather than a laboratory. Judging by its size and layout, the room was designed to accommodate no more than a single patient. A bed was tucked into the corner, and beside it lay an examination chair, complete with adjoining diagnostic equipment. Washing facilities were built into the wall benches, with various medical paraphernalia littering the shelves. There were also several floor-to-ceiling cabinets, a number of fridge-like appliances, and another door that led elsewhere (perhaps a supplies backroom?).

Most prominent of all was the rejuvenation tank, whose coupled machinery and piping spanned the entirety of the opposite wall. It emitted a faint hum of activity, conducting some invisible force through the air that made the hairs on Lightning’s arms stand on end.

Within the tank slept none other than No. XXVII.

Aesthetic appeal was a standard feature among Sanctum cyborgs, from which No. XXVII made no deviation. Thick silver tresses framed a beautiful, delicate-featured face, and its pale skin seemed almost luminous under the stark fluorescent lights. Despite its slim frame and lean musculature, it was recognisably male, from the squared shoulders to the narrow hips to the anatomical flawlessness of its genitalia (here, Lightning was unable to keep her curious gaze from straying). Were she to go by appearances alone, she would place its age at the physical prime: the fresh onset of its twenties. A little younger than herself.

Unconscious, it floated upright in the tank, submerged from head to toe in the clear, effervescent liquid. Twin breathing tubes were plugged into its nostrils, LED monitors and their attached electrode wires mapped out its vitals, and an intravenous drip fed a greenish solution into the back of its right hand. Her sharp eyes picked out a mark etched into its opposite wrist, an ugly mishmash of black arrows and a glaring red eye.

The brand of a l’Cie. 

_(roiling flames puddles of blood charred bodies screams)_

Shuddering, Lightning took an involuntary step backward.

A rustling noise behind her made her swerve in that direction, hand instinctively reaching for the handle of her gunblade.

“Easy, soldier! I just came from the other room, geez.”

Before Lightning stood a petite blonde in her late thirties, dressed in a white lab coat. She approached Lightning slowly, both palms raised in a gesture of surrender. Her distinctive pixie haircut, piercing blue eyes and name tag identified her as Dr. Alyssa Zaidelle, Head Scientist of l’Cie Research and Development. As the main operator behind the scenes of _Project Transcendence_ , it made sense that Zaidelle would play the part of No. XXVII’s personal physician.

Realising that she had nearly drawn her weapon on one of the top dogs in the facility, Lightning snatched her hand back as though burned. “Apologies, Dr. Zaidelle.” She gave the other woman a hasty, deferent bow.

The scientist’s defensive pose relaxed, enough so as to wave her own hand in dismissal. “No harm done, right?” she replied in a casual, if cool manner. “Greetings to you too, Handler Farron. You’re early.”

Caught off guard, Lightning couldn’t quite manage to restrain her snort at the title.

“Yes, it’s quite a bit to take in, isn’t it?”

“Not something I’d signed up for, that’s for sure,” she muttered.

“They wouldn’t have picked you without a reason,” Zaidelle returned, tone oddly sharp in contrast to her conciliatory words.

So someone higher up than even _Zaidelle_ was the one pulling the strings. “Yeah,” Lightning conceded with a sigh, folding her arms. “I haven’t figured out this reason yet, though.”

“Well, I know _he’s_ all the reason _I_ need.” 

Taken aback by Zaidelle’s candid proclamation, Lightning turned to the scientist, only to find her approaching No. XXVII’s tank. She stopped a foot short of the enclosure, splaying her fingers of her right hand against the glass. Her expression, Lightning noted with mounting bewilderment, was a mixture of pride, reverence and profound longing.

“Have you ever seen anyone so beautiful?”

At this, Lightning promptly lost her battle with maintaining composure and felt her eyebrows soar into her hairline. While there was no denying No. XXVII’s physical beauty, what the scientist implied would cross the boundary of objective assessment into personal - and hence _inappropriate_ – appreciation. Perhaps she was jumping to conclusions, but could Zaidelle possibly be _infatuated_ with No. XXVII?

“Dr. Zaidelle,” Lightning began, then paused, hesitant. There was no diplomatic way of putting her next statement, but she’d never been one to mince words. “I know I’m not in a position to comment, but wouldn’t it seem unprofessional to—”

“It’s not like that,” snapped Zaidelle, wrenching her gaze from No. XXVII with an almost irritable reluctance before turning it upon Lightning. “Well, it is and it isn’t. Outsiders like you will never understand. Hope is far, far more than a pet project to us. To _me_. He is the fruition of our labours, built upon generations of hard work and research. The culmination of our dreams.”

In all of the other woman’s brief, impassioned speech, one thing stood out to Lightning: the fact that Zaidelle had addressed No. XXVII by _name_. “Wait, you call him ‘Hope’?”

The scientist’s lips curled into a beatific smirk. “A fitting name for the one who will pave the way to mankind’s evolution, wouldn’t you say?”

“But I thought he is—”

“—just a l’Cie?” interrupted Zaidelle, her mood whiplashing once more. She gave a contemptuous sniff, her eyes hardening into twin blue icicles. “How mistaken you are.”

“Allow me to enlighten you,” the scientist bulldozed onwards, not bothering with the nicety of asking. “Hope is the first true artificial human. A revolution in the making.

“What is the defining feature of a human being?” This question Zaidelle directed at Lightning. “What differentiates us from animals, or machines for that matter?”

Certain that she would receive a lecture no matter what she said, Lightning opted to play along. “The ability to think for ourselves?”

Zaidelle dipped her head in approval. “Precisely. Hope is _self-aware_.”

“So _that’s_ the next milestone in l’Cie technology?” quipped Lightning, aware and uncaring of how ignorant she sounded.

As expected, Zaidelle met her flippancy with further contempt and no small amount of exasperation. “You laymen think it’s such a simple process,” she scoffed, flicking her hair. “All the AI portrayed in popular culture makes you think that it’s a given. I assure you it’s anything _but_. We’ve been trying to replicate self-awareness for Etro knows how long, with only limited success until recently.

“Take the other l’Cie for example,” the scientist continued, pacing the short distance between the walls of the room. “They may look and act human, but they lack presence. That’s because their core AI is just a bunch of algorithms. Pre-generated responses to a variety of situations. Situation A elicits response A—” here, she threw out her left palm, “—or B or C—” then her right, gesticulating her point, “depending on the circumstances.

“But even if you program enough responses to cover all the bases, the fact remains that this behaviour is formulaic. Not spontaneous like we humans are. It lacks the capacity for creativity or true emotion or consciousness, because it cannot exceed the constraints of its predefined purpose. It sets out to mimic humanness, rather than _be_ human.

“We’ve been approaching it the wrong way this whole time. So we elected to return to the source. The birthplace of our identity – the human brain.” Zaidelle paused, tapping her temple for emphasis. “What if we ran a simulation of it?

“And the end result of that is Hope,” the scientist went on, resuming her pacing. “Inside his skull lies one of the Sanctum’s most powerful supercomputers. It processes an astronomical amount of data, reproducing every imaginable nuance of cerebral activity, from the interplay between different parts of the brain to transmissions between individual neurons. To give you some scale of how _massive_ that accomplishment is, there are some ten billion neurons firing simultaneously at any given time. With _each_ neuron having up to seven thousand synaptic connections, not to mention firing multiple times per second.

“It’s taken us two whole decades to reach this point. We’ve collated and compiled millions of brain scans in that time, refining our imaging technology all the while.” She stopped before the tank, drawing her index fingers down the glass in two parallel strokes. “But the greatest challenge lay in engineering the computer that would bring it all to life – and fitting said computer within the tiny confines of the cranial cavity. Mechanising all the other aspects of human physiology was a simple task compared to this.

“Eventually, we got there. Then the quandary of operational logistics came along. As you might imagine, the energy requirements for such a powerful supercomputer are tremendous. And that’s why our first artificial human is also a l’Cie.” She turned towards Lightning, an air of sudden expectation about her. “I daresay you’d be able to figure out why?”

Now that she’d heard the scientist’s explanation, the pieces were coming together in Lightning’s mind. “Because mana is the most compatible energy resource,” she offered, “and we already have the means to harness it?”

“In summary, yes,” Zaidelle nodded, satisfied with Lightning’s answer. “Mana is the densest energy type, with a hundred-percent efficiency. As it can be utilised directly by living tissue – synthetic or otherwise – there are no conversion losses. And as you’ve said, we’ve already perfected the technology for compact, small-scale mana generation in previous l’Cie models. Why not apply it to this problem?

“In Hope’s case, we’ve enhanced the internal mana reactor and expanded its function to include a stable baseline output. Of course, the supercomputer consumes nearly all of this output, so he requires external energisation to cast any significant amount of magic. An acceptable limitation for now, but that’s something we’ll be amending in the future.

“So you see, Handler Farron,” the scientist concluded, mirroring Lightning's crossed-arm pose and tapping a irritable foot, “you’ll be working intimately with the one of the Sanctum’s most valuable assets. Do you finally grasp the enormity of your privilege?”

Knowing that any answer she provided would be inadequate, Lightning resorted to affecting nonchalance. “I suppose so.”

This caused Zaidelle’s eyes to narrow in response. “I genuinely hope you do," she said in a quiet, hard voice. "We both know the repercussions if you don’t. Anyway, that’s enough dallying.” Raising her hand to the monitor keypad, the scientist tapped out a complicated sequence of buttons. “It’s time to meet your l’Cie.”

There was a _beep_ as the blue indicator lights changed to red, followed by movement within the tank. No. XXVII was beginning to stir. Fascinated all of a sudden, Lightning unfolded her arms and wandered over to the enclosure, her feet seemingly carrying her of their own accord. She hovered over the glass not unlike a spectator at a zoo, barely cognisant of the fact that Zaidelle had moved aside to make space for her. Her gaze gravitated to the l’Cie’s face, magnetised by the contrast of dark eyelashes against the porcelain skin.

Then those eyelashes fluttered upwards, and Lightning found herself staring into twin pools of the most intense green.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N:** Cliffhanger ending, woo! Here we meet Lightning, Cid and Alyssa. I had to tweak Alyssa’s age and mannerisms a bit, but her intelligence, ambition and drive made it impossible to resist giving her role I’ve assigned her in this story.
> 
> I would apologise for the technobabble, but I’m not sorry at all. :-P The matter of Hope’s existence had to make perfect sense to me, so I’ve laid out the justifications of how he came to be. Well, most of them. I’m not revealing all my cards yet.


	3. part ii – first encounter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now, I bring you the moment you’ve all been waiting for: Lightning meets Hope for the first time. Sit back and enjoy the momentary fireworks. I wouldn’t say I’m overbold with my strokes at this point in time, but there’s a reason why the genre is labelled ‘romance’ ;-)

xxx

**_part ii – first encounter_ **

xxx

No. XXVII had the most expressive eyes Lightning had ever come across.

Right now, they were staring at her, corners stretched wide and wintergreen irises sparkling under the arch of silver brows. There was a maelstrom of emotion in them: surprise first and foremost, followed by curiosity, then wonderment. This sight entranced her, reeled her in like the inexorable pull of lodestone to magnet. Never before had she seen – let alone been the subject of – such an uninhibited display of interest, not from human, creature or cyborg alike.

Which made it all the more remarkable. l’Cie weren’t known for their emotional capacity. Whatever semblance they fabricated within the constraints of their programming was just that: a semblance. However, No. XXVII’s emotion was tangible – _real_ – even through the glass and many litres of isotonic saline that separated them.

It – no, _he_ ; Lightning couldn’t conceive of this _expressiveness_ as something that came from a genderless, impersonal object – planted his feet on the base of the enclosure and inched his head forward, searching her face. Then his too-intense eyes travelled up and down her form, and she couldn’t help but feel naked under their scrutiny. But there was nothing calculative about the way they studied her, only a singular, all-consuming fascination.

For No. XXVII looked at her as though she were the most wondrous thing he’d ever seen. As though the world, as he knew it in this very moment, comprised of her and only her.

Her nerves snapped taut when she caught sight of another movement. The l’Cie had raised his right hand and splayed his fingers against the glass, as if trying to reach her. The vulnerability of the gesture made her breath catch in her throat, and Lightning found herself being drawn further into the spell of enthralment that had surrounded them both. It was with an immense effort that she kept her arms still, forcing down the sudden compulsion to mirror his actions.

Then his lips moved, and she watched, mesmerised, as they formed shapes of words she recognised.

_Are you her? My handler?_

Before Lightning could muster any kind of response, the spell was broken by a muffled _whoosh_ of liquid being sucked away. The water level of the tank dropped, first exposing No. XXVII’s head to the air, then his shoulders and torso. He blinked several times, causing a film to slide back from his eyes. (This, Lightning knew from examining other l’Cie, was a second eyelid, functioning as a pair of retractable goggles. In the event that No. XXVII found himself underwater, it would accommodate the difference in optical refraction, while doubling as a protective layer.)

After a minute or so, the saline had drained completely, leaving No. XXVII standing in a web of wires. Said wires fell away from his body along with their electrode attachments, withdrawing into compartments within the walls. No passive participant himself, No. XXVII reached up and hooked his fingers around his breathing tubes, removing them in a fluid, practised motion. From that demonstration, it was clear that he’d done this many times.

He repeated the process with the venous catheter embedded in his right hand, wincing ostensibly as he drew out the device and no small amount of crimson fluid along with it. This surprised her. Not the _blood_ ; l’Cie were equipped with circulatory systems several models ago, and Lightning had seen her fair share of mangled biomechanical parts. However, the fact that No. XXVII could experience pain was disquieting, as was the fact that his pain threshold wasn’t adjusted for higher tolerance. (While other l’Cie had feedback mechanisms for damage assessment, those weren’t set up to be debilitating to the user. She supposed that in No. XXVII’s case, the designers forwent practicality in pursuit of realism instead.)

Her brief musings were interrupted by a burst of unearthly static – an amplified version of the tingle that emanated from the tank before. That was the telltale sign of live magic being cast, which made No. XXVII the lone perpetrator.

Ignoring the chill slithering down her spine, Lightning watched as the l’Cie brought his left hand over his right, covering the small puncture left by the catheter’s removal. His brows furrowed in concentration, and the eye of his brand emitted a red glow, making it look more demonic than it already did.

The deed was done within a matter of seconds. A satisfied gleam in his eyes, No. XXVII pulled his hand away. This revealed the skin underneath to be unmarred save for residual encrusted blood, which he scraped off and dusted aside.

So, the l’Cie had healed himself.

Now, Lightning had witnessed many instances of magic use, but none without official clearance – which _this_ clearly was. Nor had she witnessed it done in so casual – or dare she say it, _frivolous_ – a manner, even with injury (and a superficial one, at that) compelling the action.

Bewildered, she directed a questioning glance towards Zaidelle, but the scientist’s unchanging look told her that this was no unusual occurrence. Perhaps No. XXVII had a special sanction to cast at all times, as he saw fit? Nevertheless, while l’Cie of the Medic class had more autonomy in that regard (due to the non-lethality of their spells), a blanket sanction was unprecedented. _Unheard of_.

At last, Lightning was beginning to appreciate how exceptional of a l’Cie No. XXVII was. And this, combined with the swiftly coalescing reality that she was now _responsible_ for him, intimidated her beyond anything she’d ever faced.

She did not let her feelings show as the glass wall slid back, prompting her to retreat a few metres back and allow No. XXVII space to step out of his enclosure. He did so, his movements smooth and co-ordinated, his bare feet settling on the drying mat placed there for that very purpose. Now that they stood on level ground, she noticed he was slightly above average height for an adult male: a few inches taller than her not-insubstantial five-foot-seven.

Wintergreen eyes roved about, seeking out her storm-blue ones. Having taken a momentary detour to tend to his now-mended injury, No. XXVII’s attention had shifted back to her once more. Either he was too intrigued by her presence to spare any thought for his nudity, or the concept didn’t register at all (she suspected the latter).

On her part, Lightning refolded her arms and tried very hard not to look down.

He opened his mouth to speak, but she never heard his next words. It was in that moment that Zaidelle stepped into view, re-commanding his attention. His gaze brightened in recognition upon seeing the scientist – no doubt a familiar figure to him – and a smile blossomed upon his full lips. The expression transformed his face, bringing life into his synthetic, inhumanly perfect features. Then it _clicked_ what Zaidelle had meant by that off-beat remark earlier.

No. XXVII truly was _beautiful_.

“Hi there, Dr. Alyssa,” he called out to the scientist, giving a friendly little wave. His voice was as gorgeous as the rest of him, a soft, melodious tenor that resonated with warmth.

“Welcome back to the world of the living, Hope,” returned Zaidelle, flashing her teeth at the l’Cie. The disparity between this amiable, almost _playful_ demeanour and the condescending one Lightning faced earlier was startling, to say the least. “Had a good nap?” She approached him, a towel draped across her outstretched arm.

He relieved Zaidelle of her fluffy burden with a quiet, if heartfelt _thank you_. “Yes, it was quite refreshing.”

Unfolding the towel, he threw it over his head with the clear intention of drying his hair. Before he could so much as proceed, the scientist forestalled him with her next statement.

“That’s meant for your hips.” Zaidelle’s delivery was deadpan, but the twitch at the corner of her mouth betrayed her amusement. When No. XXVII continued to look at her, befuddled, she jerked her head in Lightning’s direction. “See our newcomer over there? She’s the one you’ve been waiting for. You should go introduce yourself. _Decently_ ,” she chided, her gaze flicking pointedly to his lower body.

No. XXVII took the cue and looked down, then back at Zaidelle and finally Lightning. With a soft _oh_ of realisation, he tore the towel from his head and wrapped it around his waist with supreme haste. Pink crept into his cheeks, suffusing his pale skin with a healthy dash of colour.

His mortification was short-lived though, cast aside in his palpable, if restrained excitement to meet the newest person in the room. Hands clasped together in the very picture of earnestness, the l’Cie walked up to Lightning, stopping a respectable half-metre away.

“Umm, I’m Hope,” he greeted, clearly nervous. However, his confidence was quick to build, gaining momentum with every word he spoke. “Please forgive my lack of modesty; it’s a concept I’m still getting used to. May I know your name?”

Disarmed by the eager sparkle in his eyes, Lightning gave out her full name instead of the later half by which she typically had others address her. “Lightning Farron.”

“ _Lightning_ ,” he repeated, trying out the disyllable word. The resulting sound – rough with novelty yet unexpectedly intimate at the same time – sent a frisson through her. “It’s obvious from your being here, but I still feel the need to ask… Are you my handler?” He gave her a tense, anticipatory look, as though he yearned with all his artificial heart for her to declare the affirmative.

Lightning saw no reason to deny him. “Yes,” she replied, watching as he swelled with that simple confirmation only to deflate with her next words. “But I only learned of this since an hour ago.”

“I see.” His wintergreen eyes had grown wide with bewilderment, as though he’d expected something different. “So this is completely new to you?”

She shrugged. “Unfortunately. You’ll have to excuse me if I come across as an ignorant blockhead.”

Her blasé response was a guise, something behind which to conceal her uncertainty about the situation. But No. XXVII – _Hope_ – did not react with any animosity, instead presenting the very opposite.

“I guess that makes two of us,” he offered, sympathy crinkling his eyes and turning up the corners of his mouth. Again, Lightning was struck by the beauty of his smile, her heart flip-flopping inside her chest in a most uncharacteristic fashion. “I’m new to the handler business myself. Though, to be fair, I had more warning.”

“You were expecting me? _Me_ , specifically?”

The l’Cie drew the knuckles of his right hand up against his lips, pondering her question. “Maybe?” he admitted, head tilted in a quizzical manner. “What I knew was that my handler would be a pretty young lady with rose-coloured hair, and that she would be coming today. And now here you are,” he carried on in awed tones, his hands reaching out for an instant as though wanting to grasp hers, before he caught himself and stilled them. (Were it not for the fact that her arms were still crossed, perhaps he would’ve completed the gesture.) “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

She looked away, unable to bear the weight of his gaze – much less the sheer, inexplicable _delight_ within it. “But you don’t know anything about me.”

“That can be changed, can’t it?”

His question, posed rhetorically as to leave no room for other than one answer, made Lightning pause. However, instead of arriving at the outcome he’d intended, she found herself drifting down a dark mental spiral. Unbeknownst to him, they’d touched upon the matter of her (nonexistent) self-worth.

_You wouldn’t want to know anything about me, Hope. There is nothing inside this empty shell called Lightning Farron, only misery and blood and ashes._

Swift as her thoughts had strayed, she was pulled back into reality by Hope’s soft utterance of her name. “Lightning?”

“Sorry,” she recovered, shaking her head. Not wanting to explain the reason behind her momentary distraction, she proceeded to turn the focus onto him. “But honestly, I’d rather learn about _you_ , Hope. It must be fascinating, being the first self-aware cyborg ever – and a l’Cie, on top of that. I’ll bet you get all kinds of preferential treatment,” she added lightly, arching an eyebrow for effect.

Hope rose to the bait, his beautiful features knotting in indignation. “I know I do, but putting it that way makes it sound as though I asked for it,” he protested. “Which is assuredly _not_ the case. The complications of my existence demand that I—”

“Easy there,” she interjected, opting to nip his burgeoning snit in the bud. “I was only teasing.”

He blinked. “ _That’s_ teasing?”

“Another new concept to you?”

“Relatively speaking, yes,” he expounded, spreading his palms. “There are many nuances to human communication, and while I understand the theory behind them, it does not compare with going through the live experience.”

So Hope was like a newly fledged bird, stretching out his metaphorical wings into the real world for the first time. The mental image brought a wry quirk to Lightning's lips. “Looks like I’m not the only one with a lot to learn, huh?” she quipped.

The l’Cie dipped his head in acknowledgment. “Perhaps we can help each other out in that regard? As learning partners?” he suggested, hands clasped together once more and expression alit with his namesake.

It seemed that babysitting a nascent AI would comprise yet another of her handler duties. Although this was implicit in the standard task of observe and report, she hadn’t expected something quite so experimental in nature, or that which would demand more than strict professional involvement. One of many things they’d left out in the job description.

Yet somehow, looking into Hope's earnest green eyes, Lightning didn’t feel as perturbed by this fact as she normally would have.

“Hmm. I wouldn’t mind that.”

At her reply, another smile broke out on Hope’s face, radiant with combined joy and excitement. All of it directed at _her_. Faced with such powerful, unguarded emotion, Lightning couldn’t do anything more than stare back, rendered silent by the sudden, overloud _thumps_ of her heart against her ribcage.

Then a _click_ came out of nowhere, startling her out of her reverie. “Well, it seems like you two are getting along splendidly without me,” announced the sharp voice of the otherwise forgotten Zaidelle. She approached them, a sturdy-looking box nestled into the nook of one arm.

“Dr. Alyssa!” yelped Hope, swerving around to face the scientist. “I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to leave you out of our conversation.”

“It’s fine,” dismissed Zaidelle with an airy wave of her free hand. “That was… quite interesting to watch. Now that introductions are out of the way, let’s get on with the imprinting process.”

She flipped back the box lid, drawing everyone’s attention to the contents. Inside sat a pair of asymmetric silver cuff-like devices, one larger and more intricate than the other. Lightning recognised them as manalinks, whose purpose – as their name suggested – was to forge a metaphysical connection between users, with the control heavily weighted towards one user. Insofar that she knew, they were worn by l’Cie and their handlers on the field, allowing the latter to direct the casting of magic. However, given that Zaidelle had brought them in today, they must have other uses outside a combat situation.

“Hope, Handler Farron,” said Zaidelle in a tone that brooked no argument, eyeing each of them in turn. “Take each others’ hands. _Left_ ones, mind. Physical contact is required for this.”

Obediently, Hope stepped forward and extended his hand towards Lightning. She observed it for a moment, noting the long, elegant fingers and well-trimmed nails, before raising her own.

Then their palms touched, triggering a reaction unlike anything Lightning could ever have anticipated. It felt like she’d been struck by _her_ namesake, electricity sizzling up her arm from the point of contact. Judging by his widened eyes and parted lips, Hope was experiencing the same. But while the l’Cie’s shock showed plainly on his face, Lightning did her best to conceal hers. It appeared she hadn’t managed the feat in its entirety though, if the shrewd glint in Zaidelle’s gaze was any indication.

Satisfied with her subjects’ compliance, the scientist set the box on the ground, then retrieved the manalinks within. She fitted the larger of the pair over Hope’s wrist, which conveniently covered his brand. The smaller counterpart went onto Lightning’s corresponding wrist.

“Hope, cast Libra on her.”

Hope obeyed with a nod. Again, the air was bathed in unearthly static, which in Lightning’s case, was accompanied by a full-bodied, prickling sensation as he ran the diagnostic magic through her. Rings of glowing silver glyphs enveloped her figure, spelling out her vitals in a language that only he could interpret.

“As you are already aware,” Zaidelle droned by way of explanation, producing a handheld device from her pocket and typing out a series of codes on its keypad, “all lifeforms inherently generate and emit mana, albeit in small quantities. Hence they produce a unique mana signature – what we describe as a ‘resonance signal’. I’m calibrating Hope to yours. Should you two ever get separated, he’ll be able to locate you within two hundred metres. Vice versa if you have these equipped, which also extends the range to the five-hundred metre limit.”

Silence descended after that, a minute or so passing with nothing but the warmth of their prolonged handshake, which was largely overidden by the uncomfortable thrum of magic. Hoping that the process wouldn’t last much longer, Lightning tamped down the impulse to fidget, limiting her movement to shifting her weight from foot to foot. After what felt like an eternity, the prickling sensation dissipated along with the glyphs, and she suppressed a sigh of relief.

“There, all done.”

Cool as water, Zaidelle tucked away the handheld device, then unbuckled the manalinks from Hope’s and Lightning’s wrists. Bending down, she proceeded to pack them back into their box.

“Hope, there’s another towel and a set of clothes on the bed.” From her crouched position on the floor, the scientist jerked her head towards said piece of furniture, where the aforementioned items lay. “I shouldn’t have to remind you again, but please make sure you’re dressed before exiting the premises. We don’t need another occasion with you scandalising important visitors, do we?”

“No, Dr. Alyssa, we do not,” Hope mumbled, ducking his head as a blush spread across his face – rather _prettily_ , Lightning may add.

“Luckily for you, your handler is made of sterner stuff,” returned Zaidelle blithely as she snapped the box lid shut, engaging the lock with a _click_. She then rose to her feet. “Now, I’ll leave you two to get better acquainted. If you’ll excuse me.”

Seizing the handle, the scientist hefted the box up and strode towards the exit. She pressed a button on the wall, and the double doors parted to let her through. The last Lightning glimpsed of her was the tail of her white lab coat before it fluttered out of view. Then the doors slid shut again with a resounding _thud_ of finality, leaving Lightning alone in the room with Hope.

Her new l’Cie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, what are your thoughts on Cyborg!Hope? I wanted him to retain his character from the games, along with the expected innocence and obliviousness that would stem from his isolated origins. Obviously he's not going to stay innocent or oblivious for long. Remember, reviews keep me going!


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